


Triad

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: Community: dw_straybunnies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly employed as a journalist, Rani finds there's more going on at an Eisteddfod than anyone suspected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triad

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [dw_straybunnies](http://dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com) [Twelve Prompts of Christmas](http://dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com/35395.html). Prompts 9, "Six meets Rani" and 4 "Stories based on Welsh myths".
> 
> * * *

> _Three things to avoid: an underwater Eisteddfod; an electrically operated Cauldron of Regeneration: a bard wearing a baseball cap back to front – from the Grey Book of Glynsabon._  
>    – "Peter Simple" (Michael Wharton) 

Not for the first time, Rani had to fight the urge to pinch herself. _This can't be real_ , she thought. 

The shy, photogenic schoolgirl she'd interviewed that morning had treated her just as if she was a real journalist. So had the girl's parents. The guardians of the press tent had accepted her pass without demur. And now the sub-editor of the _Ealing Mercury_ had acknowledged the resulting copy ('Good stuff', his email had read). Everybody else seemed quite happy to accept that she was a journalist. She just hoped that sooner or later, she'd start believing it herself. 

She glanced at her watch, and wondered what to do now. The _Mercury_ wouldn't require her services until the next day, when Cindy, the girl she'd interviewed, was to pit her skills with the harp against other teenagers from around the country. Then Rani would have to be there, to record the Ealing schoolgirl's triumph or defeat, and convey her emotional journey to the _Mercury_ 's subscribers. The rest of the day, such as it was, was her own. 

Leaving the press tent, she felt the change in the weather at once. That morning, it had been hot and sunny. Now, grey-white clouds were gathering around the mountaintops, and the grass under her shoes was damp. Before her, the festival stretched out, a cluster of large pavilions in a sea of smaller tents. The mixed smells of fire, rain and cooking filled the air, the last making her suddenly realise that she was hungry. 

It was while she was sitting on a bench, eating a burger and chiding herself gently for not being brave enough to try the _Cawl Lafwr_ , that a cheerful Welsh-accented voice asked "Is anyone sitting there?" 

Rani looked up, to see a young man with a guitar slung over his shoulder. He looked scruffy and unshaven, in an attractive sort of way, with a baseball cap set backwards on his head. 

"No," she said. "Feel free." 

"Thanks." Unslinging his guitar and leaning it against the end of the bench, he sat down beside her. "It's not easy to find a seat round here." 

"You're right, it's very busy." Rani looked around the crowd. 

"Is this your first time? At an Eisteddfod, I mean?" 

"That's right. What about you?" 

"Oh, I've been going since I was a kid." He nodded at his guitar. "Not a very bardic instrument, is it? But there's room for all sorts here. Do you play?" 

Rani shook her head. "I'm a journalist," she said, and found herself almost believing it. "I'm covering the harp competition. Or trying to. I don't know how I'll manage – isn't it all done in Welsh?" 

"That's right." He flashed her a smile. "I take it you don't speak Welsh?" 

"Afraid not." 

"Sounds like you need a friend who does." He held out his hand. "Dewi Evans." 

Rani shook it. "Rani Chandra." 

" _Neis cwrdd â ti_ , Rani. That means, nice to meet you." 

"And you." Rani returned his smile. "Are you doing anything this evening? Perhaps there's more you could teach me." 

He wavered, visibly, as one torn between an obligation to duty and a temptation of pleasure. 

"Sorry," he said. "I'd love to, but I've promised to do something for a couple of friends. I can't let them down: they're counting on me." He took her hand in his. "But I'll see you tomorrow at the harp competition. Shall we meet at nine, by the main pavilion?" 

"I'll be there." 

"So'll I. Definitely." He glanced at his watch. "Sorry, I've got to go now." 

"Bye, then. See you tomorrow." 

" _Wela i chi, Rani cariad._ " He squeezed her hand, jumped to his feet, and within seconds was lost from view in the crowd. 

Left on the bench, Rani took a few moments to wonder just what Dewi's last words had meant, and a few more to decide that when she did ring her friends to let them know how she was getting on, there wouldn't be any mention of him. At least, not until she'd decided how far she was going to let matters progress. Not that it was any business of theirs: it wasn't as if Clyde was actually her boyfriend or anything. 

That minor dilemma resolved, she set out to explore, aiming her steps vaguely away from where the crowds were thickest and the lights brightest. By now, it was definitely evening, and the cool breeze was definitely becoming stronger. Rani found herself wishing she'd worn something warmer. Perhaps she ought to go back to her tent for a jumper. 

She turned, and– 

"Oof!" 

Knocked off balance by the force of the collision, Rani slipped on the wet grass and landed on her back. As she sat up and got her bearings, she took cognizance from the feet up of the man she'd bumped into: striped yellow trousers, a dark red waistcoat, a patchwork coat whose colours clashed hideously even in the dim evening light, the whole topped by a broad, clean-shaven face and a mop of curly blond hair. 

"Sorry," she began, and then stopped. Her left hand had closed over something that lay on the grass beside her: something she certainly hadn't dropped. It felt like a box, too big to be a mobile telephone, vibrating faintly to the touch. She looked down at it. It was black, about the size of her shoe, with a switch and a blinking red light. Questions flooded her mind. Was this a bomb, or part of one? Had she surprised a terrorist? And what sort of terrorist would want to blow up an Eisteddfod, anyway? 

"Not at all," the man said, apparently replying to her apology. He held out his hand: whether for the device, or to help Rani up, she didn't know. She hastily scrambled to her feet and took a couple of paces away from him. 

"Who are you?" she asked. "And what's this thing for?" 

"That's no concern of yours. Now, if you don't mind, I am in a hurry–" 

"Of course it's my concern." Rani glanced around. There might not be anyone in the immediate area, but there must be hundreds in earshot. One good scream and she'd have all the help she needed. "How do I know this isn't a bomb?" 

The man looked offended. "Because I've told you it isn't." 

"No you haven't." 

"I most certainly have – just now. My dear young lady, do I look like the sort of man who goes around with bombs?" 

Rani stood her ground. "I've no idea. You could be anyone." 

"As could you," he replied, pointing at her by way of emphasis. 

"Me?" Rani dug into her pocket and pulled out her notebook. _The notebook's important,_ Sarah Jane had once said to her. _It doesn't matter if you're using a tape recorder or a tablet. The notebook's what convinces people._ "I'm a journalist. And unless you can persuade me you don't mean any harm, your arrest could be front-page news tomorrow." 

"The front page of the _Ealing Mercury_ , no less." He favoured her with a superior smile. "Your means of identification is protruding from your left jacket pocket. Now, what can I do to persuade you, Miss–" 

"Chandra." Rani shoved her press pass back into her pocket, before it fell out altogether. "Rani Chandra." 

"Rani?" His eyes widened, and for the first time he looked alarmed. Before Rani could move, he had closed the distance between them and caught her by the wrist. She took a deep breath, but before she could call for help he had released her again. 

"Human," he said, shaking his head. "My apologies, Miss Chandra." 

"Did you think I was someone else?" Rani felt new doubts sweep over her. From the way he'd said 'human', he was someone who knew about aliens – and he'd suspected her of being one. Perhaps he was working for UNIT? Or another freelancer, like Sarah Jane? 

"You share your initial appellation with an old acquaintance of mine," he was saying. "Now, since time is short and I believe I have adequately answered your concerns, perhaps you will consider restoring my property to me and I can be about my business?" 

Rani made up her mind. "On one condition." 

"Which is?" 

"Take me with you." 

As she expected, the reply was dismissive. "Out of the question!" 

"Why? Are you going to tell me I don't know what I'm getting into?" 

"I most certainly am." 

Rani took the plunge. "Is it worse than the Veil? The Judoon? The Bane?" 

"I see." The man looked her up and down. "This puts a different complexion on matters. You have a bargain, Miss Chandra." 

Wondering if she'd made the scoop of the decade or the last mistake of her life, Rani held out the box. "Pleased to meet you," she said. "Mr...?" 

Her new partner drew himself up to his full, impressive height. "Doctor," he said, simply. 

*

From the site of the Eisteddfod, their destination had looked insignificant, nothing more than a low grey wall at the foot of the mountains. Now, after an hour's brisk walk, there was nothing small or insignificant about it. The concrete dam towered over them, a vast arc of shadow against the night sky. 

"You realise, I suppose, where we are?" the Doctor said. For the duration of their journey he had refused to answer any of Rani's questions; she half- suspected that he'd set the fast pace of their walk to keep her nearly out of breath and unable to spare any for speech. 

"It's got to be the power station, hasn't it?" Rani cast her mind back, trying to remember the research she'd done for her article. "The Llanfair pumped-storage facility, the second biggest of its kind in Wales." 

"You've done your homework, I see." The Doctor nodded approvingly. 

"So why are we here?" 

"Because here, according to my tracking device, is where we should be." The Doctor switched off the black box that had first attracted Rani's attention, and pushed it into his pocket. "I believe we should take the opportunity to explore this piece of human ingenuity." 

As he spoke, he began to walk again, this time along the road that ran from West to East below the dam. 

"But you can't just walk into a power station!" Rani protested. "You'd get arrested. Or shot." 

"I can go wherever I like," the Doctor replied, supremely self-confident. 

At the end of the dam, the road turned toward the mountainside and ended at a pair of steel doors broad and high enough to admit a lorry. Set into one of the doors was a smaller door, person-sized. The Doctor marched up to this, and delved in his pockets. Rani had expected him to produce the familiar sonic screwdriver, but instead he brought out a vial of liquid. Using a pipette, he applied this to the lock of the smaller door, giving rise to a sizzling noise and puffs of choking vapour. After several repetitions of this process, the door swung open. He stepped through it, beckoning Rani to follow. 

Behind the door, a tunnel, lit by fluorescent tubes, sloped gently up into the heart of the mountain. An alcove, separated from the tunnel by a glass window, presumably ought to have been occupied by one or more security guards. It was empty, its door hanging open. Bloodstains on the floor suggested that one or more bodies had been dragged out. 

Rani looked around. As she'd suspected, a security camera was covering the entrance, a light blinking beside its lens. 

"Doctor," she said, nodding at the camera. "I think they know we're here." 

"Then there's no point in wasting their time, is there?" The Doctor strode down the tunnel, his footsteps echoing. Rani darted after him. 

At the far end of the tunnel, another set of lorry-sized doors stood open. From them harsh white light, much brighter than that in the tunnel, spilled out. Against the light, all Rani could make out was a vague impression of a line of dome-topped structures, each easily as big as a bus stood on end. 

The Doctor came to a halt and turned to Rani. 

"Wait here," he said, keeping his voice low. 

Rani shook her head. "Not a chance." 

"Miss Chandra, it seems reasonably clear that whoever is in there, they have killed everybody else in this building. If by some infinitesimal chance I am unable to stop them, you will need to raise the alarm. I suggest you call–" 

"–UNIT." Rani nodded. "I know their number." 

"Do you, indeed? I find you become steadily more interesting." The Doctor straightened his coat. "How do I look? Don't answer." 

Rani shook her head as the Doctor strode – swaggered, almost – through the doors. Her instincts, both journalistic and alien-fighting, were insisting that she needed to follow him. Whoever and whatever was beyond those doors, she ought to see them. She _had_ to see them. 

Taking a deep breath, she darted through the doors. 

The hall beyond was, indeed, vast. In a way, Rani found it more impressive than some of the other huge spaces she'd been in. This had been hewn out of the mountain rock not by advanced technology, but by humans, probably originally by miners with nothing more sophisticated than dynamite, picks and shovels. The engineers who had come after had then set their own mark on the place, using concrete to create a world of order and regularity in the old workings. 

Around the edge of the chamber, an overhead gallery ran, casting a shadow into which Rani gratefully ducked. Pieces of equipment that looked as if they belonged in a substation dotted the floor, each one surrounded by a heavy metal cage and marked with an array of stark warning notices. Towering over all of these were the four pillars that Rani had earlier noticed. Now that she had a clear view of them, she could see that they had a complicated, angular look to them. 

"Might I ask for a moment of your valuable time?" the Doctor's voice said. 

Rani crept cautiously past the nearest piece of equipment, until she could get a good view. At the base of the second pillar from the door, a battered white van was parked. Its rear doors were open, and from them protruded a number of pairs of feet. Two men were standing near the back of the van; at their feet lay a motionless figure dressed in uniform. 

"Now, I can't help noticing that you appear to be collecting dead people," the Doctor continued. Rani couldn't see him, but he couldn't be far from the men. "A hobby of which I disapprove, particularly if you start with live people. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain what you think you're doing?" 

The men were still looking around wildly, but made no reply. 

"Or perhaps you'd prefer it if I told you?" the Doctor went on. "After all, when it comes to explanations suitable for the meanest of intellects, I've been told I have something of a knack. Shall we begin with the device you are attempting to connect to the secondary generator windings? I must confess, I'd dearly like to know where you got hold of it. It's the rightful property of his majesty King Bran the Blessed, and if he found out you'd stolen it, he wouldn't be pleased." 

Rani, still trying to keep under cover, shifted her position until she could make out what, presumably, was the device the Doctor had mentioned. It vaguely resembled a gold hemisphere about five feet in diameter, the curved side pointing downward, supported in a webwork of delicate brass and silver rods. In comparison to the chunky human engineering surrounding it, it had a sleek, dangerous, almost musteline look to it. 

"Now, taken in combination with your repulsive habit of–" The Doctor's voice broke off suddenly. Rani felt her fingers tighten on the metal cage she was crouching behind as he came into view, his hands above his head. Behind him was a figure she recognised at once: Dewi, still in the same battered denim jacket and baseball cap he'd been wearing earlier. 

"Nice work, Dewi," one of the men by the van said. With a start Rani realised he was speaking Welsh, and she could understand every word. "Geraint, the rope." 

His mate disappeared into the van, returning with a length of rope. In very little time, the Doctor was tied to a nearby equipment cage, with his own large, multicoloured handkerchief stuffed into his mouth. 

"Let's show this meddling saxon just what we are doing, shall we?" the man went on. He gestured to the other two, and the three men lifted the body at their feet into the hemisphere. 

"Wait here," he said, and turned to the Doctor, repeating the instruction in English. The Doctor's reply, through the muffling handkerchief, could not be made out, but Rani suspected something along the lines of "I can hardly do anything else, can I?" 

The man walked away. Rani remained in the shadows, her heart pounding. She ought to rescue the Doctor, that was obvious: but even against two men rather than three, her chances seemed remote. And while the Doctor seemed to know everything about what was going on, she certainly didn't. 

After several nerve-racking minutes, she felt the floor vibrate, and the hall filled with the sound of running water. From the pillar by which the van was parked, the clank and hum of some great engine forced into life could be heard. As it built to power, blue sparks ran up and down the wires connecting it to the hemisphere, building to a halo surrounding the device. To the hum of the generator was added a high-pitched sound, sounding to Rani like wordless female singing. 

In the glow, the outline of a man took form. It walked forward; as it moved away from the light, Rani recognised the dead man. The bullet hole in his head still gaped, his clothes were stiff with blood, his flesh pale, but his eyes were alive, burning with fanaticism. 

Geraint produced a walkie-talkie from his pocket, and spoke a few words. The sound of running water at once began to fade. As it did so, the hum of the generator lessened, and the glow around the hemisphere faded. 

The Doctor managed to spit out the handkerchief. 

"If you're expecting me to be surprised, I'm not," he said. "The Cauldron of Regeneration, as old Bran called it. Of course, he was the rightful owner, so he didn't have to use your particular brand of brute force to make it work. Do tell me, how many zombies do you think you can create before the authorities come here in enough force to deal with you as you deserve?" 

The men's leader probably wouldn't have risen to the bait. But Geraint seemed easier to needle. 

"Well, now," he said. "How many people do you think there are at the Eisteddfod?" 

The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it. 

"You're going to kill all of them?" he asked simply, all traces of his usual confident tone absent. 

"That's right. I expect you can work out how, too." 

"This is a pumped-storage facility," the Doctor said slowly. "The water runs from one reservoir to another. But if someone opened the sluices of the bottom reservoir while the generators were running– you'd drown thousands!" 

"And with the power of the Cauldron, they'll become an army of thousands." Geraint gave the Doctor a wry look. "Of course, you'll be part of it as well. Dewi, let's have a couple of those cables over here." 

Rani made up her mind. There was no time now for getting away and calling for UNIT, or anyone. If anything could be done to stop this, it had to be done here and now, by her. 

"Dewi!" she called, emerging from her hiding place. 

Dewi jumped, and turned to face her, his face shocked. 

"I couldn't wait till tomorrow," Rani continued, running towards him. "I had to see you again. So I followed you." She looked at the scene, as if noticing it for the first time, and reacted with shock. "What are you doing? Are those people dead?" 

"Is this your latest girl?" Geraint asked, still speaking in Welsh. "Damn it, Dewi, what have I told you about getting mixed up with tarts all the time? You're supposed to be serving the Cause, not mucking around with cheap bitches." 

"She's not important," Dewi replied in the same language. "Just a bit of fun, that's all." He shifted to English. "Rani, darling, let me explain–" 

"You keep away from me!" Rani took a step back. From whatever was giving her knowledge of the language, she found the words she wanted. " _Ti'n llawn cachu!_ " 

A variety of interesting expressions flitted across Dewi's face, as he realised that his aside hadn't been as impenetrable to her as he'd thought. Geraint merely laughed. 

"Got you there, hasn't she?" he said. He spoke into his walkie-talkie, then looked back at her. "Smart girl. I'll share her with you, Dewi." 

"You'd be lucky," Rani snapped back. "I'd die first." 

"Oh, that's just it. You will. And then we'll bring you back, and you'll do whatever we want." He turned to the animated corpse of the security guard. "Kill her." 

The dead man strode forwards, his hands reaching for her neck. Rani ducked under his outstretched arms, dashed past Geraint before he could react, and ran to where the Doctor was tied. She reached for the knots which held his right arm tight, but before she could slacken them, Dewi was on her, dragging her away. She struggled in his grasp, but he had the advantage in height and weight. Around her, the hall was once more echoing with the sound of running water, and the drone of the generators began to rise in pitch. 

"You shouldn't have come here, Rani," he said. "But I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference, does it? Even if you'd stayed at the Eisteddfod, you'd only have lived a few minutes longer." 

Rani ignored him. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she said. 

The Doctor's reply made perfect sense to her, but from Geraint's expression it was clear that the language he'd used was neither English nor Welsh. Dewi, too, seemed briefly puzzled. Taking advantage of his distraction, Rani bit his hand, hard, and tore herself free. She ran, but there was nowhere to run. Dewi was behind her, Geraint and the zombie guard closing from left and right. Ahead, her path was blocked by the cauldron, sparks running up and down the rods that supported it. 

"Now, Rani!" the Doctor shouted. 

Rani took a deep breath, and dived forward into the cauldron. There was a _snap_ , a smell of ozone, and everything went black. 

*

There was a smell of burnt hair and scorched wool. Cold metal against her cheek. Every inch of her body was tingling, as if with pins and needles. As the ringing in her ears faded, Rani could hear, as if from an immense distance, the sound of flowing water and the steady hum of the generators. 

She managed to open her eyes. She was lying, curled up, in the bottom of the cauldron. Every movement was painful, but with a great deal of effort she managed to drag herself to a position where she could see over the rim. 

"Ah," the Doctor said. "I see you're back with us at last." 

"At last?" Rani repeated. She tried to check her watch, but the dial wouldn't come into focus. In fact, now she looked closer, she could see that it had melted. 

"It's getting on for morning." The Doctor leaned into the cauldron and lifted her gently to the floor. "UNIT got here a couple of hours ago." 

Rani, leaning on the cauldron for support, looked around. The van was still there, but of its grisly contents there was no sign. Nor could she see any trace of Dewi, or Geraint, or the man they had answered to. Two soldiers, wearing blue berets and carrying rifles, were standing on guard. 

"I could do with an explanation," she said. 

"The Cauldron of Regeneration isn't designed to reanimate someone who's already alive," the Doctor said. "The feedback blew every circuit breaker in the building – and I'm afraid it did for your friend Dewi and the other two men here as well. After that, I contrived to free myself from their rather amateurish bindings, and dealt with their leader when he came to see what the problem was." 

"You dealt with him?" Rani repeated dubiously. 

The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "They say he'll make a full recovery. So will you, by the way, in case you were worrying." 

"And did you call the soldiers in?" 

"Oh, no. They came of their own accord. You'll appreciate that these days people tend to take notice of unexplained shutdowns at power stations. They've reset the systems, and as you hear, things are back to normal." 

Experimentally, Rani let go of the cauldron and found that she remained upright. She took a few steps. Her muscles still ached, but things seemed to be getting back to normal. She looked back. The cauldron, she now noticed, had lost its golden lustre: it was blackened, as if by a layer of soot. 

"And that's it?" she said. 

"Pretty much." The Doctor patted the cauldron. "We can leave the cleaning up to UNIT. In matters such as these, I willingly defer to the experts." He gave Rani an appraising look. "Unless you feel capable of walking back to the festival on your own, I suggest that I drive you." 

Leaning on his arm, Rani allowed herself to be escorted from the generator hall. At the end of the tunnel beyond, several jeeps were parked; the Doctor commandeered the most convenient one, lifted her into the passenger seat, and started the engine. 

"Doctor," she said, as the jeep accelerated down the tunnel. "I can't speak Welsh. So how could I understand what those men were saying? And that other language, the one you were speaking when you told me to jump into the cauldron?" 

"The other language was Interlac. Not known on Earth in this era, so I knew they wouldn't understand it. And as for how it's done: it's a Time Lord gift I'm allowing you to share." The Doctor sounded the horn as they approached the outer gates of the tunnel, causing the soldiers on duty to jump back and fling the gates open. "I'm afraid I can't let you keep it." 

"Pity. It would have been useful. I've got to report on the harp competition this morning, and it's conducted in Welsh." 

"If you intend to be seen in polite society I suggest we stop off at my ship," the Doctor said. "You could do with a brush-up and a change of clothes. Your current garments, I fear, are scorched beyond redemption." 

Rani, who'd caught a glimpse of her singed appearance in the jeep's wing mirror, was inclined to agree. "I hope you've got something in the TARDIS that'll fit me," she said. 

"I expect so." The Doctor glanced at her. "Would you mind telling me exactly how you know that my ship's called the TARDIS?" 

"I've met you before. Well, not you, but I've met the Doctor before." 

"Whereas I'm positive I've never met you before. I would be sure to remember you." 

"So we're meeting out of order?" 

"Top of the class, young lady." He looked back from her to the road, just in time to swerve out of the path of a four-ton army truck. "I suggest you don't talk about the other times you'll have met me. You might set up a predestination paradox, and those things are best avoided." 

*

Rani emerged from the TARDIS, wearing a donkey jacket over a jazzy, futuristic trouser suit. It wasn't ideal, but ought to pass muster for today at least. 

"What do you think?" she asked the Doctor. 

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "The trousers will do, but that coat's far too dull. You need to stand out from the crowd, Miss Chandra! You need to make people remember you!" 

"I'd prefer it if they remember me for my writing." Rani patted her pocket, to check that her notebook was safe. "Pity I won't be able to write anything about last night. I'd end up buried under a heap of D-notices." 

"Oh, but you will write an account, Miss Chandra, you will. Not in tomorrow's fish-wrappers, but your memoirs will be all the richer for it, I assure you." 

"Have you..." Rani gave him a long look. "Have you read my memoirs?" 

"And fascinating reading they made, my dear. Of course, I didn't realise who you were at first. Your books, you see, will be published under your married name, Mrs–" He broke off. "But it would be quite wrong to give you that kind of information. I'll get my wrists slapped again." 

Rani glanced at her new watch: there wasn't that much time before the harp competition began. "I suppose this is goodbye," she said. 

"It needn't be. I think we've established quite a good working relationship. It could, if you desire, be extended." 

"You mean... come with you?" 

"That is precisely what I mean." 

Rani stood in thought for some moments. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've got to cover the competition. It's what I'm paid for." She took a deep breath. "Maybe another time?" 

"Maybe. As they say in these parts: _Pob hwyl_ , Miss Chandra." 

He stepped back into the TARDIS. Almost at once, the familiar wheezing and groaning sound echoed around Rani, and the police box faded from view. Feeling self-conscious, Rani waved goodbye, then turned and hurried in the direction of the pavilion. Inevitably, she found herself wondering if she'd made the right choice. The Doctor, as Sarah Jane had told her, could have taken her to anywhere in time and space, shown her wonders she'd never hope to see. And on the other side of the balance sheet, all Rani had was a vague sense that she had to live her own life, not always to follow somebody else. Even when that somebody else was as admirable as Sarah Jane or the Doctor. 

She squared her shoulders. She'd made her choice, anyway, and there was nothing to be done about it now. Walking briskly, notebook in her hand, she headed for the pavilion to cover young Cindy's emotional journey. After all, it wouldn't do to disappoint her readers. 


End file.
